The Ohio Democrat. (Logan, O. [Ohio]) 1886-1906, 1887-02-12
SHOT AND SHELL.
Their Work, Not as Historians Tell Of It
Hut as Fighting Men Know It to he.

SFIOI tStNO SFIEGGs
Their Work, Not as Historians Tell Of II
Hut as Fighting Men Know 1t To he.
One who has fought on many battle.
field writes the following thrilling de-
scription of tho work of u battery OF six
guns.
Did you ever see battery take posi-
tionp
1t hasn't the thrill of cavalry charge,
nor the grimness of line of bayonets
moving slowly and determinedly on;
but there is peculiar excitement about
1t that makes old veterans rise in their
saddles and cheer.
We have been fighting at the edge of
the woods. Every cartridge has been
cmpticd once or more, and one-fourth Of
the brigade has melted away in dead
and wounded and missing. Not u cheer
is heard in the whole brigade. We know
that we are being driven foot by foot;
and that when we break once more the
line will go to pieces, and the enemy
will pour through the gap.
Here comes help!
Down the crowded highway gallops
battery, withdrawn from some other
position to save ours. The field fence
is scattered while you could could count
thirty, and the guns rush for the hill
behind us. Six horses to piece-three
riders to each gun. Over dry bitches
where farmer would not drive a
wagon, through clumps of bushes, over
logs foot thick, every horse on the
gallop, every rider lashing his team
and yelling-the sight behind us making
us forget the foe in front. The guns
jump two feet high as the heavy wheels
strike rock or log, but not horse
slackens his pace, not cannoneer loses
his seat. Six guns, six caissons, sixty
horses, eighty men, race for the brow
of the hill as if he who reached it first
would be knighted.
A moment ago the battery was a
confused mob. We look again, and the
six guns are in position, the detached
horses are hurrying away, the ammuni-
tion chests open, and along our line
runs the command: "Give them one
more volley and fall back to support
the guns" We have scarcely obeyed
when boom! boom! opens the battery,
and jets of fire jump down and scorch
and despaired.
| The shattered old brigade has a
chance to breathe for the first time in
three hours as we form line and lie
down. What grim, cool fellows those
cannoneers are! Every man is perfect
machine. Bullets splash dust in their
faces, but they do not vince. Bullets
sing over and around; they do not
dodge. There goes one to the earth.
shot through the head as he sponged
his gun. That machinery loses just one
beat, misses just one cog in the wheel,
and then works away again as before.
Every gun is using short-fuse she'll.
The ground shakes and trembles, the
roar shuts out all sound from line
three miles long, and the shells 60 shrek
inginto the swamp to cut trees short off,
to NOW great gaps in the bushes, to hunt
out and shatter and mangle men until
their corpses can not be recognized as
human. You would think tornado
was bowling through the forest, fol-
lowed by pillows of fire, and yet men
live through it-aye, press forward to
capture the battery. We can hear their
shouts rs they form for the rush.
Now the shells are changed for grape
and canister, and guns are fired so fast
that all reports blend into one mighty
roar. The shrek of shell is the
wickedest sound in war, but nothing
makes the flesh crawl like the demoniac-
al singing, purring, whistling grape
shot, and the serpent-like hiss of can
lister. Mems legs and heads are torn
from bodies, and bodies cut in two. A
round shot or shell takes two men out
of the rank rs it crashes through. Grape
and canister NOW swath and pile the
dead on top of each other.
Through the smoke we see swarm
of men. 1t is not battle-line, but a
mob of men desperate enough to bathe
their bayonets in the flame of the guns.
The guns leap from the ground, almost,
as they are depressed on the foe, and
|
into one awful and steady cry. Twenty
men out on the battery are down, and
the firing is interrupted. The foe ac-
cept it as sign of wavering and come
rushing on. They are not ten feet
away when the guns give them last
shot. That discharge picks living men
off their feet and throws them into the
swamp, blackened, bloody mass.
Up, now, as the enemy are among
the guns! There is silence of ten
seconds, and then the flash and roar oi
more than three thousand muskets and
rush forward with bayonets. For
whatp Neither on the right nor left
nor in front of us is living foe! There
are corpses around us which have been
struck by three, four and even six bull
lets, and nowhere on this acre of ground
is wounded man. The wheels of the
gun can not move until the blockade OF
dead is removed. Men can not pass
: from caisson to gun without climbing
over winrows of dead. Every gun and
wheel is smeared with blood; every foot
of grass has its horrible stain.
Historians write of the glory of war.
Burial parties saw murder where his.
torians saw glory.-N Y Voice.
EUROPEAN PRINCES.
Hundreds OF Able-Bodied Men Who Live
at the Expense OF Oppressed People.
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